


in my defense, i have none

by lydiabennett



Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Possibly Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, Tags May Be Updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25995769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiabennett/pseuds/lydiabennett
Summary: Meredith Bennet is living a modern faery tale gone wrong. Madeleine Amaranth-Henstridge has never believed in "once upon a time."Takes place during the events of The Royal Romance, Book 2.
Relationships: Madeleine Amaranth/Liam, Maxwell Beaumont/Main Character (The Royal Romance)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25





	1. if one thing had been different...

She leaves the airport with Bertrand’s jacket around her shoulders and both of the Brothers Beaumont shielding her from paparazzi, Maxwell’s arm around her protectively and Bertrand giving a statement with a barely-contained tremor of rage in his voice.  _ Lady Meredith Bennet, _ he says,  _ will be remaining in Cordonia, and with House Beaumont. We have no further comment.  _

Maxwell is uncharacteristically quiet as they walk, and when she hears one of the photographers shouting towards her, “Lady Meredith, don’t you think you owe the people of Cordonia an explanation?” she stiffens, and he only tightens his arm around her. Bertrand joins them quickly enough, and they’re all in the car almost before she knows what’s happened. She’s dizzy. She’s exhausted. Her feet hurt, and she’s shivering. It’s bright out, the sun climbing the morning sky, and she notices for the first time that both brothers are sporting stubble and dark circles under their eyes.

They’re fifteen minutes into the drive, still silent, Bertrand staring determinedly at his phone screen as if he can find the answers there, Maxwell sneaking glances her way in between yawns, opening his mouth to speak before thinking better of it. It’s only once they’ve gotten out of the city and are on the country roads leading to Ramsford that anyone says anything.

“Can we pull over?” Her voice is quiet, a hoarse croak that she can’t quite recognize as her own. “Please, I need — I think I need some air —”

The car is barely stopped on the side of the road before she spills out, Maxwell following at a close distance, and she doubles over, hands on her knees. His careful hands gather her hair back for her, even brushing the sweat-slicked strands from her forehead with a tenderness she doesn’t think she deserves, but he doesn’t say a word. 

When she’s finished he releases her hair carefully, letting it fall at her back, and he offers her a tissue. She climbs back into the car, Maxwell behind her, as she wipes her mouth with the tissue, and when she’s gotten back in Bertrand holds a bottle of water out for her wordlessly. There’s a sympathy in his eyes that prompts a rush of warmth and gratitude, but no one says anything for another ten minutes, until Maxwell clears his throat.

“C’mere,” he says, expression gentle, voice soft. “Your hair’s all in your face.”

And Meredith obeys silently, turns around so he can gather her hair back and begin to braid it. The braid is crooked, and a little frizzy, but he drops a kiss to the top of her head when he’s finished, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders again and draws her closer to him, and when she rests her head on his shoulder, she finally sleeps. 

She doesn’t get out of bed for longer than it takes to eat and shower for those first two days. On the morning of the third day, she swallows her fear and she opens up a search engine.

_ M-e-r-e-d- _

Oh, She’s an autofill, now. Fingers shaking, she taps her own name, and she opens the first link to come up as a result: and there they are, the pictures of her, a hand on Tariq’s chest and wearing only her underwear. Through the window, her face is obscured, and you can’t see the confusion in her expression any more than you can see that she’s trying to push him away. 

There are tears stinging her eyes, but she can’t look away from the pictures. She taps on one, and when it pops up she magnifies the image until all she can see are the blurry pixels of her blue bra strap and her shoulder and her hair. It seems odd that her hair looks so washed out, she thinks; it’s a deep, beautiful brown, almost black. Here, it very nearly looks grey , everything with a vague blue filter from the evening light and the glass of the window. 

There’s a knock at her door, and she calls out a quick, “Come in,” hastily wiping under her eyes and clearing her throat. When Maxwell sees her, he hesitates.

“CBC?” he asks finally, eyes flickering toward her phone, and she nods. “Is it — does it help? To see them?”

“No,” she says, voice thick, and she lets out a watery laugh. “I keep trying to figure out what part of it I hate the most — the pictures, the fact that they don’t include what happened next, how everyone reacted... There’s a lot to choose from.”

“What happened next?”

“Drake punched him. Then he punched Drake, and then when he figured out what was going on he was — he was  _ horrified _ , and he left, and —”

She’s crying again. Meredith sniffs, hard, and brings her free hand up to her face to paw at her cheeks, and slowly, Maxwell crosses the room to her bed. After a beat, he sits almost gingerly next to her, toeing off his shoes before swinging his legs up and leaning against the headboard.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she tries to clear her throat. “I’m — god, I  _ hate _ this, I  _ hate _ how much this is getting to me —“

“No. Don’t apologize.” His tone is more serious than she’s ever heard it, and she looks up at him in surprise. There’s a ferocity in his expression that matches his voice, and he shakes his head. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I was doing  _ so well _ about not crying,” she says before hicupping, and Maxwell holds an arm out for her. Immediately, she leans into him, head on his shoulder, his arm slung around her and his hand curled around her upper arm, and he squeezes her gently.

“Sometimes, you’ve got to cry it out,” he tells her. “It’s okay. You can cry it out.”

And she does. 

She cries for the violation — the images of her on the internet without her consent, available to anyone who bothers typing five letters into a search engine, the entitlement of the people who will be looking this up for any reason they want, the way that she can’t stop it. 

She cries for the betrayal — someone  _ seeing _ what had happened and not trying to help, deciding to profit off of it instead. Had the photographer watched Drake defending her and not cared? What had it looked like without context, a jealous lover intervening or an assault being prevented? Had they seen her sitting in the dark afterward, arms crossed over her chest and hands fisted in the fabric of her dress to hide the way they shook?

And she cries for House Beaumont — their hopes of financial solvency dashed, the guilt she feels over her inability to repay the for everything. She wouldn’t have blamed them for not coming after her, but here they are, Bertrand promising her action and Maxwell holding her while she sniffs and sobs like a child. 

She joins them for lunch that third day, after she’s cried herself into a magnificent headache and taken a long shower and downed a sports drink that helped clear her headache better than the ibuprofen. She’s dressed in something other than a pair of sweatpants and a tank top — and yeah, fine, it’s jeans and a hoodie, and it’s low effort, but it’s  _ something _ . Bertrand offers her a smile, something small but supportive all the same, and Maxwell flashes her his widest grin. 

“You said you wanted to bring me back to court?” she asks, and Bertrand only nods. “Then we should start to prepare.”

Ten days.

Really, it’s not that long, if you think about it. Ten days without hearing from Liam shouldn’t matter that much. She’s gone longer without hearing from someone she was kind-of, sort-of seeing. It’s no big deal. It’s fine. She’s fine.

Except it’s also been ten days since she heard from Hana, or Drake. The first few days, she could brush it off — Hana was headed back to Shanghai, summoned home after Liam chose someone else, and Drake surely had to help take care of Liam, between the relatively sudden accession, and the engagement. 

But it’s been ten days. And ten days is too long for no one to reach out. 

“I know everybody’s busy,” she says to Maxwell that afternoon as they’re reviewing the Cordonian waltz for the fifth time while Bertrand watches from the other side of the room, “but would it kill them to text?”

He doesn’t have anything clever or quippy to say to that, and she can see the discomfort in his expression. She’s guessing that means that nobody’s reached out to him, either.

“Should I — I don’t know. I know I could text them first, but — I’m the wounded one, aren’t I? Shouldn’t they be trying to get in touch with me somehow? It doesn’t need to be something major, but even a  _ hi, how’s it going, hope you’re not consumed by shame _ ?”

“Maybe it’s not safe to text,” he offers, but even he doesn’t sound like he buys it. “Maybe they want to, but they can’t, because Madeleine stole Liam’s phone, and — and Hana’s trying to get back to Cordonia incognito, and Drake is — I don’t know what he does with his spare time. Bar-hopping for clues?”

“Or maybe,” she says, putting words to what they’re both thinking, “they don’t believe me. Hana might be on another continent, so she gets a pass, but the other two... Maybe Liam got Drake in the divorce. Maybe Liam’s so angry he just doesn’t want anything to do with me, and Drake’s going to be on his side. Of course he is. They’re best friends.”

“I’m Liam’s best friend, too,” Maxwell offers. “I still believe you.”

She smiles at that, even as Bertrand calls out a sharp,  _ Mind the beat! _ and starts counting by threes to get them back on track. 

“You haven’t texted them, either,” he reminds her, voice quiet. “They know you’re the wounded one, but maybe they’re waiting for you to be recovered enough to reach out.”

“If that was the case, wouldn’t Liam have texted you already? To ask? To see when he could try?” she asks, just as quiet. 

He doesn’t have an answer to that. On Bertrand’s command, she spins under Maxwell’s raised arm, and when she comes to a stop in front of him, her back to his chest, he holds her a little tighter than he needs to.

“Have I ruined your relationship with your best friend?” she asks, still soft, because it’s easier than asking when he’s looking at her and she has to see the troubled expression he reserves for this situation, for Liam’s response or lack thereof, for Meredith’s clenched jaw and shining eyes when she tells herself that everything’s fine, she’s faced worse. 

“Nope,” he answers immediately, and this time, he sounds sure. “My best friend’s right here, and she and I are just fine.”

She starts crying again, fat tears rolling down her cheeks even as she starts to smile, and Maxwell releases her with a startled look when she steps away from him. She throws her arms around his neck and he tugs her close to him, tucking his nose against her hair. Bertrand stops counting, even turns off the music, and when she steps back she sees him looking pointedly at the ceiling, as if trying to grant them whatever privacy he can. 

As if he feels her gaze, he looks back at her, and he clears his throat. “From the top?” he asks, and Meredith nods.

The song starts again, and she performs the steps perfectly. 

* * *

“ _ Ow _ .”

He winces at that, offers her a quiet apology, and Madeleine doesn’t comment, doesn’t say anything even though this is the fifth time, now, that Liam has stepped on her foot during the waltz. A waltz, by the way, which he knows well, which he has danced a hundred, a thousand times, and which they had danced together during the social season. She knows the cause of his distraction, and there is, she thinks, no reason to justify it with commentary. 

“From the top, then,” she suggests instead (rather generously, she thinks). It’s always her left foot, and the heels she’s wearing are unforgiving. Her feet are in agony, but she says nothing about it. She isn’t here to complain. 

“Perhaps we can take a break.” His counter-offer is a command, intentionally or otherwise, and Madeleine doesn’t argue. She releases him, trying not to let his disinterest sting, and she presents him with a pleasant smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Of course. If you’ll excuse me, then, I should see to the preparations for the welcome party next week. Please, don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

He’s quite handsome, she thinks, if one can get past the sorrow in his expression. Then again, it might make him even lovelier. She hates him for that, just a bit. “We’re engaged now,” he says, and a note of that sorrow has crept into his voice. It’s been only two weeks, she tells herself, he needs time to mourn, even if she wishes he would do so privately. “We can do away with some of the formalities.”

“Then may I speak plainly?”

“Please, do.”

“I am no more comfortable watching your grief for Lady Meredith’s departure than you are comfortable grieving in front of me. It’s a personal matter, and clearly not one which you wish me to become involved in. I am sure, if you would rather take the time to process this privately, you could. I can handle the preparations myself.”

He starts, but he at least has the decency to look chagrined. “Is it that obvious?” he asks, and he shakes his head. “You’re right, of course. My apologies, Madeleine. I should be more present, more involved —”

“There is still another week before the party. Right now, we are, miraculously, afforded some privacy. I doubt we will have any once the season begins. If you need to handle this, now is the time to do it. I am perfectly capable of planning everything, and I doubt anyone would think twice about it.” He hesitates, and she lets out an impatient sigh. “I would rather you take the time to do it  _ now _ than spend the entire season pining. I know you cared for her. I am honestly sorry for your sadness. But the truth is that in a week’s time we will need to seem perfetly at ease with one another, and entirely comfortable with our future. I will need you,  _ then, _ to care about floral arrangements and place settings, at least for the public eye. In the meantime, I would rather you do whatever you must to get to a place where that is feasible. Until then, I’m sorry, but you’re very little help to me.”

“I see.” He looks at her curiously, as if he had expected anything but this. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” His eyes flicker toward one of the nearby tables, laid out with potential designs for the napkins, and his gaze lands on an image of cream-colored cloth with  _ L&M  _ embroidered in gold on the corner. 

_ Is he thinking of us, _ she wonders, following his gaze,  _ or thinking about Meredith? _ She knows the answer. She wishes that she didn’t. 

“You’re right,” Liam repeats. She does feel sorry for him. He drags his eyes from the napkin plans and looks back at Madeleine, a small, sad smile on his face. “You are — far more generous than you give yourself credit for.”

Her eyebrows raise at that, but only just.

“The circumstances of our engagement notwithstanding, you are a fine woman, and a fine choice. Cordonia is lucky.” He clears his throat. “So am I. I do know that. I’m sorry that I haven’t made that clear before. I need just a few days, to — deal with things. I appreciate your understanding, and I’m grateful for it. I don’t know how many other people would be so gracious in this context. If there is anything at all that you need, anything I can do...”

She listens silently, and when he’s done speaking, she slides the engagement ring from her finger. It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. But it wasn’t for her. “There is,” she says, and she holds the ring out to him. “I know you’d intended to give this to Meredith. You chose it with her in mind. I’d rather you selected one for me that you intended for me alone.”

Liam takes the ring and nods, closing his hand around it almost immediately. After a beat, he steps forward, taking one of Madeleine’s hands in his own and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I am grateful,” he repeats, “for  _ you _ .”

When he’s gone she returns her attention to the open binder on the table. After a beat, she picks up the image of the monogrammed napkin and she tears it cleanly in half. No need, she thinks, to dredge up memories with shared initials.

A single email and twelve hours later and a prototype of the new design is in her hands, the Cordonian lion embroidered where their initials had been. 

The two days that follow are quiet, and peaceful. Madeleine is almost ashamed, but she’s grateful for it; Liam’s presence had been stifling, nearly suffocating, the weight of his disappointment obvious even when he wore his best game face. She has tried not to take it personally, but there are moments when even  _ her _ control slips. 

_ Lady Meredith Bennet seen in Ramsford, _ reads a tabloid cover, and the picture is of Meredith in a pair of shorts and a sports bra, hair an absolute mess, hands on her knees as she’s doubled over and gasping for breath while Maxwell Beamont is, apparently, bouncing on his feet around her in a garishly neon ensemble. The subtitle —  _ Is Cordonia’s would-be queen trying to  _ run _ from her past? _ — is infuriating on several levels, the frankly horrendous pun foremost among them. 

“Are you  _ worried, _ darling?” her mother asks that evening, eyebrows raised, and Madeleine offers her a brilliant but brittle smile. “Lady  _ Meredith _ is still here.”

“Less worried about her than you,” she answers serenely. “You are  _ far _ more likely to embarrass me than she is.”

“Oh, I feel sorry for the poor girl,” Adelaide yawns. “She just wanted to have some  _ fun _ . Who can blame her? I wish you would loosen up. Have a bit of fun. Get photographed in your underwear and live a little.”

Madeleine’s smile tightens. “She was badly used,” she agrees finally. And it’s true. She remembers the way the media had treated her after Leo’s abdication, and there hadn’t been anyone to photograph her in her bra. “You know the press. They’re happiest when they have someone to crucify, and she hardly deserves that.”

“I thought you didn’t like her.”

“I don’t. That doesn’t mean I think she deserves this.” She brings her cup of coffee to her lips and takes a slow sip. 

“Do you think she’s going to make a play for Liam?”

“Probably.”

“And you’re not worried?”

“Why should I be? She’s not my enemy, Mother, and she’s not my competition anymore. She’s a woman who’s been wronged. I can’t blame her for wanting to prove that it’s beneath her. I would do the same.” She sets her coffee cup down and toys idly with the spoon on her saucer. “Even if she  _ was _ my competition, I would have nothing to worry about.”

“You think you can keep Liam’s attention when his faery tale princess is sitting at the same table?”

“I  _ think _ ,” Madeleine answers, her voice terse and brows drawn, “that you are entirely too caught up in pitting us against each other, especially over a man. There’s no reason we can’t coexist.”

“Someone’s defensive.”

“Someone’s done with this conversation,” Madeleine says, and her tone brooks no argument. For once, Adelaide takes the hint, and falls blessedly quiet.

When Adelaide speaks again, it’s only to ask what dress Madeleine will be wearing for the welcome party, and Madeleine knows her mother well eough to not be bothered by the criticisms that follow. 

“Are you busy?”

She’s always busy. There is always something to be done for Fydelia. She does more to manage Krona than her mother does, most days; more than once, Madeleine has wondered if Adelaide’s near-aggressive devotion to a life examined is borne of spite, if that’s the reason Godfrey so rarely returns from Karlington. 

(He should be here. He should be present, and actively involved in this. He should be proud of her for getting here. He should be proud of her for trying again, after what happened with Leo. A good father would be. She takes that and she folds it up inside her chest, smaller and smaller like a piece of paper, until she can store it away in the chamber of her heart where she has stored all of her father’s failures since she was a girl.) 

But Madeleine smiles politely, though her expression is guarded, and gestures for Liam to come in. Her study is a carefully controlled environment, everything arranged perfectly to her specifications; she only allows one or two members of the staff access to the room, doesn’t allow her mother in at all. The sight of Liam standing in the doorway makes her uneasy, but she swallows the discomfort.

“Nothing that can’t wait.” Funding requests from the university, one of the many things she’s set aside so she could manage the engagement tour herself. A few extra days will hardly matter. “Did you need something?”

He has his hands clasped in front of him, long fingers idly toying with something small. “I had hoped we could speak.”

If he’s here to talk about the tabloids... “I see.”

He hesitates for a moment before holding up the trinket in his hands. It’s a small wooden box, intricately engraved, and he offers it up for her to take. Their fingers brush when she collects it. She hardly notices. Inside the box, though...

The original ring had been stunning, a massive diamond that practically screamed for attention but understated enough not to be gauche. Beautiful, but not at all to her tastes. This one is more delicate, somehow, a larger diamond surrounded by smaller stones, the white gold carefully, beautifully sculpted into a pattern of vines and leaves.

“I could get on one knee, if you’d like,” he says, and he offers her a smile, something warm, something kind. Madeleine trails a finger along the band before picking it up carefully, fingers trembling.

“This is — it’s beautiful, Liam.”

“I’ve been looking, since we spoke — the ring is nearly two hundred years old, an engagement ring given by an English earl to the woman he married. It was a miracle to find it.” Hesitantly, Liam steps forward, and he holds one hand out for her; without thinking, Madeleine reaches out, resting her left hand lightly on his. 

“English?”

“I wanted to find something that would honor your heritage. I know your father is important to you. May I?”

He takes the ring and slides it onto her finger, and for a moment, she almost expects to find that she  _ feels _ something. She should, she knows. There should be something so powerful, so profound about a moment like this that she should feel differently, somehow. Even at his worst, he is thoughtful, and wonderful, and she almost hates herself for it, but she feels...

... _ nothing _ . 

The ring looks perfect on her, and it fits her as though it was made for her. Liam keeps her hand in his, and he clears his throat, looking from the ring to her face. For a few long seconds he simply looks at her, examines the curve of her jaw and slope of her nose, the exact shade of her eyes. His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but he’s trying. 

Somehow, that makes it worse.

“I have been — thoughtless, and unkind. My affection for Meredith exists. It will continue to exist. That won’t change, and I won’t lie to you, but you — you have been so patient with me, Madeleine. I’ve taken a moment that should be celebration for you, for me, for  _ Cordonia _ , and I’ve been selfish.”

“Liam, please —”

“I appreciate everything you have done, and will do, for our country and our people. You will make a wonderful queen, and I am lucky to have you here. We all are.” He takes in a breath, and his smile softens. It still doesn’t look wholly natural. She hates how hard he’s trying. “Please know how much I value you.”

Madeleine swallows hard. It all seems within her grasp, in this moment. “Thank you for that.” Her voice is thicker than usual, and she lets out a small, delicate cough. “And for the ring. It’s beautiful. A wonderful choice.”

“If you can continue to be patient for just a bit longer — I want to do right by you. I don’t intend to treat this marriage like an obligation, or a sentence, and I regret ever giving the impression that I would. If you have the time, and you’re willing, I would like for us to talk. I’d like to give this a chance.”

It hits her, then — he doesn’t know.

“Have you been keeping up with tabloids?” she asks slowly, carefully, and Liam frowns at the sudden change of subject. He even looks frustrated — and there is a part of Madeleine, the same part she tries to fold away, that thrills in the knowledge that she’s managed to push him.

“I’ve been trying not to, for the past few days. I thought it would be best, to help put this behind me.”

She shakes her head, holding up her hand to stop him. The ring glints in the light from the lamp on her desk. “Then we need to talk.”


	2. if i bleed, you'll be the last to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How is it that he does this so often? Every space that has been hers, he seems to infiltrate effortlessly — worse than that, he seems utterly natural in them, as if in the first place they were designed around an empty space shaped like him. She had been up half the night trying to place her unease and had settled on that: he had looked like he belonged in her study, and she had been able, in snatches, to imagine him there in his pajamas in the morning, coming to greet her; standing behind her and reading over her shoulder; sitting with an arm around her as he consulted her.
> 
> Now, the roses seem to arch toward him, and she is unreasonably, irrationally jealous that he can exist here with such ease when all the rest of the world is his for the taking.

“We need to set some ground rules, Liam, and I think we need to ensure that we are perfectly clear about our expectations for one another. You should know that Lady Meredith remained in Cordonia. She is with the Beaumonts, at Ramsford, and she is, apparently, preparing to join us for the engagement tour.”

Silence.

Madeleine is a woman who likes control. She likes for things to go in the way that they must, to operate according to a logic that cannot be circumvented. The world works in certain ways; if you know the rules, then you can manipulate things to your advantage, and if you do not, then you will, surely, lose. She has known the rules since she was a child. 

Under most circumstances, she would be pleased that she can anticipate how Liam will react. He falls silent, his hands releasing hers and slowly returning to his sides. He keeps his expression under remarkable control, but he’s still stricken, and she’s spent enough time with him to be able to catch a few glimpses of what he’s really thinking. Fear, wonder, regret, hope — and then he is careful, and guarded, as he always is.

Just once, she would like for him to surprise her. She would like for him to say,  _ great, well, time to go right now, thanks for the memories.  _ She would like for him to say  _ anything, _ really. As it is, he simply stands there, looking everywhere but at her, no doubt trying to determine the most effective way to explain to her what she already knows.

The ring is a new weight on her left hand, and it strikes her, suddenly, if a little vaguely, that she will have to make adjustments to her movements until she is used to it. She has no use for the overly romantic notions to which Liam has, apparently, fallen prey, but she wonders if she should be more concerned that she expects so little of her future husband. Instead, she feels little more than idle curiosity as she watches him.

He is silent for several minutes, all of them uncomfortable, but Madeleine refuses to break the silence. If he has something to say, then he should say it. She has no intention of bailing him out now. Finally, he speaks, each word slow and measured.

“You’re certain?”

“Quite.”

“I see.” He clears his throat, raising his eyes from just over Madeleine’s left shoulder to meet her gaze. If he’s looking for warmth or affection there, she thinks idly, he’ll be disappointed. “Would you prefer not to have her?”

“She will be joining us.” It’s the simplest thing in the world. “If I turn her away, then her presence becomes a point of contention, and the press will determine that I am  _ afraid _ of her. Besides,” she adds, raising a carefully sculpted brow, “I know that you’ve been eager to see her again. I don’t know if her presence will only make you more devoted to her, or if it will disabuse you of your affections, but either way, I wish you the best.”

He frowns, lovely brow furrowed, before his forehead smooths suddenly and his eyes are alight with understanding. “You really don’t care, do you?” he asks, and he sounds... surprised. “I remember how nervous you were with Katie and Leo.”

“I wouldn’t say I was nervous.” Madeleine frowns. “I had expectations that your brother would have more respect for the agreement we’d struck, and his duty to Cordonia. When he failed to do so, I was angry. I was mistaken in my assumption, and that is not a mistake I intend to make again.”

“Leo did what was right for him.”

“Yes, I’m sure, and evidently what was right for Cordonia as well. With all respect due your brother, he would have been an unenthusiastic king, and he would have made things significantly more difficult than necessary. Leo would have abdicated whether or not he met her. You and I both know that, just like we know that you are not your brother.” Madeleine shrugs one shoulder. “And just like we know that, however much you care for Lady Meredith, you care more for Cordonia.”

He doesn’t answer. She wonders, for a moment, if he intends to lie to her and insist that she’s wrong, or if he’s trying to come to terms with knowing that she’s right. 

“If you end our engagement, Cordonia appears unstable, between a lack of a potential queen and the constant changeover in the court. If you abdicate to be with her, Cordonia is without a king. Who rules then? Bertrand Beaumont? My mother?  _ Olivia Nevrakis? _ ” She lets out a bark of laughter, utterly humorless. “No. It must be you, Liam, and for that to work, you need me.”

She’s right. She’s right, and he  _ knows _ that she’s right. Liam looks away briefly, before nodding. She almost pities him.

Yes, she thinks, she wishes he would surprise her. 

“I hardly think that means that you would need to be miserable, however,” she says, and he raises his eyebrows. “Be honest, please. Do you like me at all?”

He hesitates before answering, then — “Well enough. I think we could be friends.”

“ _ Could be. _ In the future. And I’m not opposed to that developing, but that’s for then, not now. The truth is, Liam, you hardly know me, and you’re preoccupied. I doubt you have any  _ interest _ in knowing me right now. That’s fine. I could wait around for you to decide you aren’t interested in her anymore, or we could be realistic. She is going to be a part of our lives. I think that’s been made very clear.”

Almost instantly, his face becomes a mask, his expression unwavering. His tone is equally measured. “I’m not quite sure I understand what you mean,” he says pleasantly, ever the politician, and Madeleine smiles before she can catch herself.  _ This _ is the King Liam she’d been hoping to deal with — clever, capable, and always thinking four steps ahead.

She allows herself a moment’s romanticism. She allows herself to imagine that she is here to fall in love with Prince Charming, not to provide an appropriate political match for him. His eyes are a warm, earthen brown, intelligent, kind. His hair is thick, ink black and utterly distracting, and she has an urge even now to run her fingers through it. Everything, from his broad shoulders to the clever curve of his lips, would be enough for anyone, she knows. She can hardly blame Meredith Bennet for staying here. 

“I mean,” she says, “that if you wish to continue your relationship with her, I won’t stand in your way, or hold it against you. It’s exactly as I said the night before the Coronation: she can be your lover, so long as I’m your queen. There are some ground rules that need sorting out, and we can discuss those over the next few days, but the sentiment hasn’t changed.

“The welcome party is in four days,” she says finally. There’s tension building in her shoulders, but she isn’t quite sure why. She is losing the battle to win the war. She has weighed her options, and this will be the best for her. For all of them, really. So why are the arches of her feet tingling so uncomfortably? Why are her palms sweating? “Sleep on it; we can discuss it more tomorrow, but you don’t need to make a decision now.”

He nods slowly, and for the first time since the Coronation he offers her an unguarded smile. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. You’re right; we should speak more tomorrow, once I’ve had some time to digest it.” 

The words that come next are unexpected. Madeleine isn’t aware that she’s saying it at all until she hears her own voice calling after him as he turns back toward the door of her study. “Liam?”

“Yes, Madeleine?”

“Thank you. The ring — it’s wonderful. It’s exactly what I would have wanted you to choose.”

He turns back to face her, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “I’m only sorry it took me so long to get you the right one.” He hesitates, then — “Goodnight, Madeleine. Sleep well.”

And then he’s gone, and Madeleine stays standing, staring at the space he’d occupied as she twists the ring around her finger, and she bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood.

* * *

She loves the morning sun over the rose garden. Fydelia is the jewel of Krona (of all of Cordonia, truth be told) and there is nowhere this is more clearly reflected than in her garden. When she has the time, she tends to the garden herself; there is nothing like the sensation of dirt under her fingernails and the sun on her back to make her feel like she is a part of the land, the marrow in its bones.

When she’s home, she starts every morning here, a cup of coffee in one hand and her tablet in the other, though the latter often goes ignored in favor of simply breathing. Here, the weight and responsibilities of her county, of her ambitions, fade; it feels like stolen time, stretching to encompass the most precious seconds of every day. Inside, she is Countess Madeleine Amaranth-Henstridge, daughter of the Duchess of Krona and Duke of Karlington, fiancee of King Liam Rys, second choice of everyone. Here, the roses almost seem to arch toward her, as if they are as happy to drink in her presence as she is to drink in theirs. 

No one bothers her in the rose garden, and so when she finds it occupied the next morning, she very nearly greets the interloper with a threat to have him removed, bodily if necessary. Instead, she bows her head as she approaches, though she doesn’t say more than, “Good morning, Liam.”

How is it that he does this so often? Every space that has been hers, he seems to infiltrate effortlessly — worse than that, he seems utterly natural in them, as if in the first place they were designed around an empty space shaped like him. She had been up half the night trying to place her unease and had settled on that: he had looked like he belonged in her study, and she had been able, in snatches, to imagine him there in his pajamas in the morning, coming to greet her; standing behind her and reading over her shoulder; sitting with an arm around her as he consulted her. 

Now, the roses seem to arch toward him, and she is unreasonably, irrationally jealous that he can exist here with such ease when all the rest of the world is his for the taking.

“Good morning.” His eyes are warm and mirthful, and there’s a small smile playing at his lips. “I brought you a cup of coffee, but I see you’ve come prepared.”

“How thoughtful. Thank you.” Sure enough, there’s a cup waiting for her at the small table where she usually sits. Madeleine moves to set her own cup down, and she leans forward subtly to sniff the cup he’d brought her. It’s a little lighter than she usually takes her coffee, and it smells... nuttier? No, not quite...

“Cinnamon,” he says, apologetically. “I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee, so — it’s how I take mine. I thought you might like it.”

A dash of cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Good-naturedly, Madeleine ignores her own coffee in favor of the one he’d brought her, and she’s almost dismayed to discover that she does, in fact, like it. 

“What’s on your mind?” she asks as she takes a seat, and Liam moves to sit beside her, his own cup warming his hands. 

“I thought we might continue the conversation we began last night, before the others wake and, ah, take it upon themselves to listen.” He shudders a bit, but it’s cheerful enough play-acting.

“You know my mother so well already. She’ll be delighted. You’ll be an excellent son-in-law.”

He lets out a small snort of laughter before he can quite catch himself. “Duchess Adelaide is certainly exuberant.”

“It’s too early to be diplomatic. She’s inappropriate and indiscreet, and has convinced herself that  _ those _ are the most interesting pieces of her personality.”

He takes a drink from his cup, in no small part to hide his smile. 

“And you’re right to imagine that she’d want to intervene. Go ahead, then. Say whatever it is you’re thinking.”

“You mentioned  _ ground rules _ .”

“Ah. Yes. I have very few. First, discretion: your relationship  _ cannot _ be known to the press, the people, or the royal household. Your close friends, I’m sure, will be made aware. The Beaumonts, Drake Walker, even Hana Lee, if you decided to stay in touch with her. And, if you feel the need to discuss this with the King Father and Queen Mother, then by all means, do so. But  _ they _ are the only ones who would know this.”

“I understand, and I have no objections.”

“Second, respect for me: I will be queen, and I will be your wife. If you want to give her a  _ minor _ position to explain her presence, that’s fine, but she will answer, of course, to me. She will recognize me as her patron, and will pay me the respect due. After all,” Madeleine points out, eyes narrowing somewhat, “she would be remaining in court by my grace. If I require your time, or your presence, then my claim to both comes before hers. And on a somewhat related note: you would keep your —  _ dalliances _ — out of any bed you and I share. That’s just good manners.”

He shifts, somewhat uncomfortably, certainly unconsciously. His expression doesn’t change. “Of course. All of that is fair. And third?”

“The matter of succession. I would prefer you wait to begin anything until  _ after _ you and I have had a child, but I recognize that this isn’t likely. You and I  _ will _ need to have children — which reminds me, if she is to be the third person in our marriage, I expect her to be  _ safe _ , as her health will impact yours and, inevitably, mine. But to children: only your children with me will be eligible to take the crown. Your children with her will not. Make her a duchess, if you’d like, so the children can inherit the duchy, but only  _ our _ children can rule Cordonia.”

Liam’s brows knit, but he nods. “I agree. The succession absolutely cannot come into question.”

“I’m not unreasonable, Liam. You love her, and I’m sympathetic to that. We can negotiate specifics as necessary, but so long as those principles are upheld, I think we’ll be fine.”

He sits back in his chair, and he looks at her almost as if seeing her for the first time. “You would really be comfortable with this? Your husband, in love with another woman, having a relationship with her?”

Madeleine sighs, and she pushes her chair back from the table so she can stand. “Stand, please,” she requests, and Liam obeys. She takes a step closer to him, then another, then — “Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

He’s hesitant, at first, his lips gentle against hers, his touch chaste. Madeleine’s hands come to rest against his chest, one sliding up to curl around the side of his neck, and she presses closer to him. His own hands come to rest at her hips, as if to hold her in place. Her lips part under his; the hand on his chest moves, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt; she steps closer still, hips matched to his, eyes falling closed. 

When she steps back from him, his breath is a bit heavier than it was before, and she clears her throat. It’s a good kiss. A better kiss than she would have imagined. Even so...

“Do you feel anything?” she asks politely, almost pleasantly. “Anything like what you feel when you kissed Lady Meredith?”

His eyes cloud with guilt, but he shakes his head.

“There’s no need to be ashamed. I expected as much. It’s perfectly fine, Liam. You love her; you don’t love me. I don’t blame you. If that ever changes, we can renegotiate, but for now, I have no objections whatsoever, so long as the rules we’ve set are followed.”

Liam’s hands are still on her hips. She releases his shirt, lowers her own hands to curl her fingers lightly around his wrists, and she steps out of his grasp.

“My parents don’t love each other,” Madeleine says finally, and she shrugs one shoulder. It’s a strange thing to say out loud, but it’s the truth. “They don’t even  _ like _ each other, at this point. You and I get along. We respect one another, and forgive me if I overstep, but we respect one another  _ as equals _ . If I refuse to allow you to see her, then you will resent me. If I push her away and punish her, then you will resent me. Our personal feelings only matter in how they serve Cordonia, and I think  _ this _ — not standing in the way of you finding some measure of happiness — will serve Cordonia best. Do you disagree?”

“No.” This close, she can practically count his eyelashes. There are a few freckles scattered across his nose. Have they always been there? Has she only just noticed now? “No, I don’t disagree at all.” He seems about to say something else, before he clears his throat and shakes his head. “This is generous of you, Madeleine. More generous than I’d dared imagine, or than I deserve.”

“I’m trusting you not to make me regret that generosity. Think of this as my first act of faith in my husband: don’t humiliate me, and don’t harm Cordonia.”

“I have only one additional request of you.”

“You may be pushing your luck,” Madeleine warns, but there’s laughter in her voice.

“You mentioned Lady Hana — I’d like for you to invite her back to court, as one of your ladies. She and I became friends during the social season —”

“And,” she interrupts, “she and Lady Meredith are close, and it will make Lady Meredith happy to have a friend here, and will make  _ you _ happy to know that she’s looked after.”

“Yes. You’re right.”

“I can do that.”

“What can I do for  _ you _ ? You’re doing so much for me — how can I possibly begin to return the favor?”

For a long moment, Madeleine watches him in silence. She doesn’t think about how warm his hands had been on her hips, or how he’d tasted of coffee and cinnamon and, vaguely, of mint. Instead, she sits again, and returns her attention to her coffee.

“You can be the man I know you are,” she says, picking up the cup again, “the  _ King _ I know you are. I didn’t make this offer so you would be in my debt, Liam.”

“Then why?”

“Because it will be best for Cordonia. And it will make you happy. My gift to you.”

After a beat, Liam nods, and returns to sit beside Madeleine. “These gardens are magnificent,” he says several minutes later. “If you would be willing, there is a patch of land that’s been largely untouched since my mother’s death. It was one of her projects. Perhaps we could bring some of your roses there.” 

Her smile — and her eyes — are bright at that, and she nods eagerly. She doesn’t even spare the time to berate herself for showing her hand. 

“I would like that very much.”

* * *

After that, things change.

It’s subtle, at first. Liam is present, more often — not simply there, physically, but paying attention, in ways he didn’t before. There is a part of her that she doesn’t like to admit exists, one that is wounded at every reminder that  _ she _ could never make him so happy. (It doesn’t matter that she isn’t in love with him, does it? It’s the  _ insult _ of it all. Still, it’s an easy part of her to ignore.) 

The rest of her is nearly overcome by gratitude. At least he’s here. At least he’s making an effort, and a good enough one that no one will likely question it. At least she will get everything she wants, everything she’s  _ ever _ wanted, now. 

_ Finally _ .

She thinks the most surprising change is the intimacy of it. He joins her in the mornings in her rose garden, and it takes some getting used to, but she doesn’t quite mind. (He learns how she takes her coffee. She misses the cinnamon, but she doesn’t say so. Not yet.) He stands comfortably beside her, now, an arm slung casually around her or his hand in hers. It’s not merely in public appearances — he seems to  _ genuinely _ enjoy her company, now.

For all the world, they still don’t look  _ in love, _ but they look at ease. They look happy. They look whole. She wonders what changed it: the promise of Meredith’s return, or his understanding that she would make sacrifices for his sake? She can’t complain, either way. She hadn’t realized how badly she would want this until she had it. 

The strangest of it comes the night before the welcome party. Everything is ready, and utterly perfect: the catering, the decoration, the dress she’ll wear and the lipstick she paired with it, down to the very color of his pocket square. He has a newspaper folded in his lap, one he pretends to be paying attention to when he remembers he’s not supposed to be eavesdropping, and Madeleine would tease him if she weren’t leaning to the side in her chair, trying desperately to hear. 

Two rooms over, Regina and Adelaide have been arguing for more than fifteen minutes, their voices rising steadily in volume. She catches a few words here and there — nothing too bad, of course, until she hears Adelaide all but  _ shrieking _ , “Being queen never actually made you better than me! It just meant you had some foundation for your delusions of grandeur.”

Immediately, her cheeks burn red, and she straightens in her seat, looking down at her folded hands in her lap. She hears, rather than sees, Liam standing, and then his hand is held out in front of her. When she looks up, he’s smiling, a bit of mischief in his eyes.

He nods toward the French doors that lead to the balcony, and he wiggles his fingers. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, “before they come looking for us.”

From two rooms over she hears Regina shouting, “My  _ god, _ Adelaide, are you  _ completely  _ incapable of discretion, they’re right in there —”

“Hurry.” Liam is whispering, trying to contain his laughter. “Before they catch us.”

She hesitates only a moment more, then takes his hand. Immediately, he tugs her closer to him, and they cross the room toward the French doors, slipping out and sliding the doors almost completely closed behind them mere moments before Regina and Adelaide make it to the sitting room. Liam moves to shield her, a finger to his lips, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, as they press themselves to the outer wall of the manor. The only things standing between them and the most uncomfortable conversation of the week are those doors, and the plant Liam had pulled them behind, and even Madeleine giggles.

“ _ Shh! _ ” he warns, and she slaps a hand over her mouth obediently.

“You are shameless, Regina.” Adelaide’s exasperated voice floats out through the barely opened door. “You would do anything to avoid having this discussion with me.”

“You’re not wrong,” snaps Regina, and the doors open as Regina steps out. Liam’s shaking shoulders only shake more, and he moves fully in front of Madeleine as if to keep her better hidden, the both of them flattening themselves against the wall as much as possible. “But I could have sworn they were here, and we may not actually need to broadcast our disagreements to our children.” She steps onto the balcony. If she turns  _ just so, _ she’ll see them —

“Regina,” Adelaide drawls, “I think Liam knows that the only interesting thing about you is that you were Queen. He’s lived with you for more than a decade. I can’t imagine it comes as a surprise.”

Regina stops in her tracks, whirling around and storming back into the room. “How  _ dare _ you —” she shouts, and she yanks the door closed behind her, voice muffled beyond understanding once she’s back in the room. 

It’s not until they’re both gone that Liam moves, gives them both room to breathe, and he takes a few steps toward the railing, looking down over the balcony. “It’s only one story,” he says. “Not a long drop. We could wait here, if you’d like, or I could catch you.”

Madeleine bites her lip, looks between the doors, closed behind them, and Liam. On a whim, she tries the handle — locked from the inside, as she’d known it would be. Her eyes flicker back to Liam. For a moment she wants to apologize to him, to beg forgiveness for her mother’s incessant inappropriate behavior. 

But he’s smiling. He doesn’t seem perturbed. If anything, he seems amused — as if they can simply handwave their parents’ flaws and missteps, as if these things don’t matter. 

Maybe, just for now, they don’t. 

“No need,” Madeleine says, and she reaches down to pull her shoes off one at a time. “I’ve climbed over this railing before.” She takes a look at the shoes, and drops them unceremoniously over the side; they bounce on the grass with a series of soft  _ thump _ s.

“Maybe you should catch  _ me _ ,” Liam teases, and Madeleine swings one leg over the railing, then the other, and she tosses him a smile over her shoulder before she starts to shimmy down. 

She lands on the grass and Liam follows suit shortly after. Before she can apologize or ask if he’s alright, he’s laughing, louder this time, and bounding to his feet.

“Come on,” he says, holding his hand out for her again. This time she doesn’t hesitate to take it. “Let’s go, before anyone sees us.” They take off in a jog, Madeleine’s shoes forgotten, and only stop when they reach her garden. Here, it’s only a matter of waiting — one of her staff always comes out to bring her a cup of tea before she retires for the evening.

They collapse into their chairs, breathless with laughter, and finally, Liam turns his face toward her. “Is she always like that?” he asks, and Madeleine rolls her eyes.

“ _ Constantly _ . She’s inappropriate, she’s childish, and she seems to think she was put on this earth to make everyone around her uncomfortable. Have you ever seen her around Maxwell Beaumont? If my  _ father _ ever chased after a lady half his age, it would be a scandal, but my mother seems to think that she’s exempt from things like basic manners.”

“We could arrange for her to take a very late flight for the wedding,” Liam offers, and Madeleine lets out a surprised huff of laughter. 

“I’m sorry,” she says after a beat, “that you had to see that.”

Liam waves a hand, shaking his head. “We’re going to be married,” he says. “We’re going to be  _ family _ . No need to stand on ceremony, and no need for apologies like that.”

Madeleine only nods. After another moment’s silence, she speaks again. “What about the Queen Mother?”

“Regina? Oh, you know her. She’s all about appearances, and big pictures, and courtesy, but she has a nasty bite when she wants to. I almost want to lock them in a room together and see who’s still standing.”

“My money is on her. I mean that literally. I would pay her to fight my mother.”

Liam’s laughter is loud and echoing, and Madeleine is suddenly grateful for the dark, and the way that it hides the deep blush creeping up her neck. 

“How is Leo?” Madeleine finally asks. “And Katie?”

Liam looks over at her in surprise. “They’re both doing very well,” he says, and there’s obvious warmth in his voice. “Apparently, the twins are both walking, now. They spend all their time chasing them and trying to stop them from getting into anything they shouldn’t.”

“He always seemed like he’d make a good father.”

“He asked after you.”

“That was kind of him.”

“I’d like to ask you a personal question, if you don’t mind.”

Madeleine laughs, shaking her head. “We  _ are _ going to be married,” she repeats. “If we’re past apologies and being secretive about family dramatics, I think we’re past the point of getting shy.”

Liam smiles, but he hesitates, as if he’s not sure whether or not ask. “Did you love Leo?”

For a moment, she remains silent, turning the question over in her mind before she answers. “No,” she says finally. “No, I don’t think so. I could have, perhaps. If we’d had the time, and the circumstances, for that to happen, but — no. We weren’t even friends, really.”

“Do you think you would have been happy?”

“I honestly don’t know. I haven’t thought about that in a long time. I love Cordonia more than anything — I would have been happy to be in Cordonia’s service, even if I wasn’t happy as Leo’s wife.”

Liam opens his mouth as if to speak, but catches himself before he does. She feels an odd tugging sensation in her chest.

“And yes,” she says, answering his unasked question. “I think I will be happier as your wife than I would have been as his. You take me seriously, Liam. That means a great deal. Even with our —  _ arrangement _ — I think that you and I are on our way to becoming friends.”

Her eyes are adjusting to the dark, now. She can see that he wears an inscrutable expression, and she can see that he is watching her just as closely.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he tells her, his voice soft and serious, and Madeleine inclines her head in a gracious nod. 

“I’m glad to say it.” She lets out a slow breath, and she averts her eyes from his. “I don’t know what I would have done, if I’d failed again. I know this isn’t what either of us had planned for, but I think it will work out for the best.”

“Absolutely,” Liam says, and he’s about to continue when the lights on the outside of the house, aimed at the garden, flicker to life, and one of the household staff comes outside, a cup of tea in one hand and her shoes in the other.

“Your Majesty,” he says, bowing, “Countess Madeleine. Can I bring you anything else?”

Liam stands as she gathers the shoes into her lap. “No, thank you. I’ll be heading inside,” he says, and he hesitates at Madeleine’s side, a hand coming to rest on her shoulder. He squeezes once — and then, as if by instinct, he leans forward and drops a kiss to her hair. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She falls silent as she watches him head back into the house, and when she finally catches herself, the valet is still waiting, cup in hand. “My lady?” he asks after a moment, and Madeleine snatches the cup from his grip, tea sloshing over the sides as she moves. She lets out a quiet hiss of pain as the hot tea hits her fingers, and it’s all she can do not to drop the cup or saucer.

“I’ll be staying out here a bit longer,” she says finally. “I don’t need anything else.”

She doesn’t hear the door close behind him. She doesn’t move for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the wonderful responses to chapter one! i had planned to get this up sooner, but the semester started, and i'm both teaching classes & writing a thesis, so the first few weeks are always a little sketchy in terms of schedule. in the future i plan to put chapters out on wednesdays, either one or two weeks apart depending on how busy i am. 
> 
> madeleine has been an unexpected joy to write — my favorite characters (narrators especially) are complicated & often fairly unpleasant women, and it's been a real treat to try and balance how absolutely awful she can be with the threads of genuine affection, loyalty, and kindness we catch glimpses of. i'm really looking forward to exploring that further, and to exploring how that works with someone like liam, who is at his core a genuinely compassionate person who's just a little bit in over his head, and still learning the degree to which he can and cannot influence the world around him.
> 
> come chat with me at maxwellsbeaumont on tumblr!! thank you for your patience & for reading!!


	3. i'm the mess that you wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s no ignoring it now — she’s crying again, cheeks flushed and nose red, and she sniffs, the sound loud and ugly. Good, she thinks. She doesn’t want to be a pretty crier. She wants to be hideous and monstrous. If she’s going to be plastered all over tabloid covers and treated like a thing, she wants her hurt to be so obvious, so massive, that it can’t be overlooked.
> 
> Starting here, in this manor, in this court, with these people. Even with him.

_ Cause you make me feel like I could be driving you all night, and I’ll find your lips in the street lights, I want to be there with you... _

She should be in bed. She knows this. In twelve hours, they need to leave to go to Fydelia, where she’ll have to watch Liam and Madeleine play the happy couple and wish them well, where she’ll have to be on her absolute best behavior and where she’ll have to look at the same people who were all too eager to cast her aside and pretend that she isn’t a person so much as a fodder for scandal. In twelve hours, she needs to be perfect, and she’s going to need all the sleep she can get to make that happen.

But the sweet sounds of Carly Rae Jepsen are pouring from the speakers, all of them hooked up to her phone after more than twenty minutes of swearing into the ether and hoping Bluetooth heard. The sweet sounds of Carly Rae Jepsen are also the only respite she’s found from listening to Bertrand’s dance recordings, and the only sounds that have made her  _ want _ to move. 

Slowly, slowly, she lets it build in her, each movement coiling like a spring in her muscles and waiting for release.

_ Not a flower on the wall, I am growing ten feet, ten feet tall. In your fantasy, dream about me, and all that we can do with this emotion... _

And it bursts out of her, arms raising, hips swaying, socked feet sliding on the hardwood. Meredith tips her head up, looks toward the lights, throws herself into the music. 

She danced as a kid, mostly ballet. In college, she would spend four, five, six hours practicing when she should have been doing homework or sleeping, long after the studio had closed to anyone else. Ballet had been a bust, though —she loved the control, the discipline it took to keep her body moving exactly as she wanted, but her parents wouldn’t pay for a dance degree and so she’d shifted it to the back burner. (More and more, as of late, she’s been grateful for it. She’d shifted to political science — and  _ that _ had left her a little more secure at court, for all it mattered then.)

After that, it was dancing in clubs, dancing on bars and table tops, a stranger’s hands on her hips. There hadn’t been much use for most of the steps she’d learned, but she loved the feel of it, the burn of her muscles when she stretched, the breathless laughter that followed a night of moving until she couldn’t move at all. Now, it’s gliding across the ballroom, and it’s fine, it really is, but nothing compares. 

She’s lost in it, enough so that when Maxwell comes into the ballroom she only spares him a wave, half acknowledgement and half invitation. It’s no surprise when he accepts, even as the tempo shifts, taking her hand to spin her around and around until she’s dizzy before pulling her back to his chest, an arm slung around her waist.

_ In your head and I won’t stop until you forget me, -get me not... _

“Too much energy to sleep?” he asks, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the thrum of the bassline.

“Too many feelings,” she answers, and he spins her out again. 

“Do we want to talk it out?”

“Nope. We want to dance until we stop thinking about it.”

“Not my usual dance music pick, I’m not going to lie.”

“Watch it,” Meredith says, shimmying closer. “We don’t disrespect Miss Carly Rae in House Beaumont.”

“ _ Never _ .” Maxwell draws a hand to his heart in feigned dismay. “She’s my thinking music. And my comfort music. My ringtone for you is actually a Carly Rae Jepsen song.”

“Ooh, which one?”

He points to the ceiling as the song changes, his movements becoming even more fluid.

_ I really want to stop, but I just got the taste for it... _

“It’s been stuck in my head for... well, three years,” he confesses with a shrug. “Killer song. Excellent choice for a single. And the music video has Tom Hanks.”

“Why use it for me? The sick beat?”

“Nah. You remind me of Tom Hanks.”

She bursts out in loud, hiccuping, bubbly laughter. It’s the first time she’s laughed like that since the Coronation. Maybe since the night in Applewood. Maxwell looks overjoyed at the sound.

“That’s nice to hear,” he says warmly, and he dances closer to her, holding both hands out for her. She takes them without hesitation, lets him pull her closer and raise one hand, his other moving to her waist. “Let me see that foxtrot.”

Meredith moves into the right steps seamlessly, and she bites the inside of her cheek, hard. “You know,” she says, “I’ve been so upset about everyone else’s radio silence that I haven’t really thanked you for everything.”

“You don’t have anything to thank me for, Mer. You’re one of us, now.”

“That’s the thing.” She smiles, honest and a little sad. “I’ve never done the close family thing. I’ve emailed my parents like, less a dozen times since I came to Cordonia in the first place.”

“What are they like?” he asks. “Your family. You don’t really talk about them much, and I didn’t want to ask if you didn’t want me to pry —”

She’ll never understand why it’s so easy for so many people to brush Maxwell off for his sense of humor, his unflagging optimism. She looks at him curiously for a moment, and he frowns.

“Sorry. Am I being pushy? I’m being pushy.”

“No, it’s just — sweet, you checking in like that. You can ask anything you want. My dad teaches kindergarten, but I think he never really knew what to do with us when we grew past six or seven. He babied us a lot, and didn’t give us a lot of space to learn how to fail, but he meant really well, you know? Mom was a little tougher on us. She was a little more distant, too. She preferred being at work to being home, so a lot of the time it was just us and Dad.”

Maxwell’s movements slow, until they’re simply swaying together, the steps forgotten. His grip on her tightens protectively, just a bit, and she grins at him. 

“My older sister, Amy, doesn’t really talk to us — she rebelled, hard. She moved out when she was eighteen, went upstate, and she hosts goat yoga sessions. The goats are really cute, for the record. Last time I went to visit her I got to watch one being born, so she let me name him.”

“What did you name him?”

“Hummus. I was hungry. Amy wasn’t thrilled about it, but she caved.”

He laughs, and Meredith steps closer, almost without meaning to. 

“What about your younger sister?”

“Corinne. She got married to the  _ worst _ kind of guy and turned into a robot. We haven’t talked since.”

“Ouch.” The hand on her waist skates over her back, pulling her tighter into him, until she’s close enough to rest her head on his shoulder if she wants to. His grip is protective, and warm. 

“Yeah. I caught him cheating on her, actually — they came into my bar — and when I told her, she said I was just jealous because I couldn’t land someone, and she could. She stopped talking to me, found out it was  _ true, _ and has been furious with me for being right ever since. I actually didn’t get invited to their wedding.”

The song changes, and the tempo with it, and Maxwell releases her. She steps away, almost reluctant. “No offense,” he says, in that signature Maxwell Beaumont way, “but your family  _ sucks _ .”

Anyone else would be delicate about it. Meredith laughs, amazed, and throws her arms out at her sides, spinning slowly. “Amy’s not bad, just annoying. But for the most part, you’re not wrong,” she says, with surprising warmth. “Guess it’s a good thing I’ve got a new one, now.”

Maxwell catches one of her hands and tugs, spinning her into his chest. When she looks up at him, still laughing, she’s surprised to see how serious he is. 

“I promise,” he says solemnly, “to never kick you out for telling me the truth, or to treat you like a child, or to be distant, or to get angry at you for naming a goat  _ Hummus _ .”

“It’s a good name, right?”

“The best name.”

They spin and shimmy until they’re out of breath, and for the first time since Applewood, Meredith sleeps through the night. 

* * *

“This  _ blows _ .”

It does. It blows. It sucks. It’s shit. Meredith calls a quick  _ ’scuse me _ after a waiter sweeping by, and she doesn’t bother to ask what’s in the glass she collects from his tray. He looks her over once, eyes widening with recognition, and he offers her a small, sympathetic smile before continuing on his way.

Waitstaff solidarity, she thinks, and she takes a sip. Sparkling wine. Hints of apple, obviously, because this country only knows one flavor. At her side, Maxwell bumps his hip lightly against hers. 

“Look alive,” he whispers. “The press is here.”

“I’m guessing I  _ shouldn’t _ tell them to eat me?” she mutters, and Maxwell coughs to cover up his laugh. 

“Could you imagine? Bertrand would die on the spot. He’d just die. He wouldn’t even know what happened, he’d just —  _ die _ .”

“Tragic,” she sighs. “So stern. So brave. Taken down by a secondhand ass-kissing deficiency, and  _ just _ in his prime.”

Maxwell opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by an unfamiliar voice chiming, “Excuse me. So  _ you _ must be the infamous Lady Meredith.”

They turn in unison to face the speaker — blonde, haughty, but with mischief in her eyes. “The one and only,” Meredith says, before she can think better of it. “I’m sorry, though, you don’t look familiar. Did we meet at an event, or have you just seen me naked?”

Somewhere, Bertrand is gasping for air, she’s sure. The woman laughs, extending a hand. Meredith takes it and gives her a firm shake. “How bold of  _ you _ to attend,” the woman says, “but it’d be a boring party without a little scandal, don’t you think? Welcome to Fydelia.”

_ Welcome. _ “That must make you Madeleine’s mother.”

“That’s right. I suppose the family resemblance must be what gave me away.” She winks. “And hopefully not my age. My name is Adelaide.”

Adelaide Amaranth. Duchess of Krona. Bertrand made her flash cards to study with while she was running on the treadmill. The polite response is  _ it’s a pleasure to be here,  _ Meredith knows, but her patience is already thin, and so she simply offers a wide smile. “Cool.” She tightens her grip on Maxwell, who seems perfectly happy to have someone standing between him and Duchess Adelaide. (She does, rather distinctly, recall a comment that the Duchess has a hard time taking  _ no _ for an answer, or reading social cues she doesn’t like.) “Great to be here. I love a good party and I never say no to free food.”

Adelaide laughs again, looking her over curiously. That’s the thing she hates most about these functions, Meredith decides — being looked at like she’s on display, like she’s practically a piece of meat being served up for everyone to pick apart. “The press said you were an uncouth American who jilted King Liam, but now that I’ve met you, I’m not sure I believe them.”

“I saw  _ trollop _ on a blog yesterday,” Meredith offers helpfully. “Don’t see that one too often anymore.”

Adelaide offers her a vague smile, but that seems to be the extent of her interest in Meredith. She turns her attention to Maxwell, her smile fading into a scowl. “Now,  _ you _ ,” Adelaide says, “I believe everything they say about you.”

Instinctively, Meredith presses closer to Maxwell. He looks distinctly unruffled, though he leans into Meredith. “You’re looking lovely as ever, Lady Adelaide.”

“Lord Maxwell Beaumont, you have quite a bit of explaining to do!” Her scowl vanishes, tone playful. “How is it that I’m never invited to any of these Beaumont parties that I’ve heard so much about?”

“Must’ve been a terrible oversight on our part.” His tone is cheerful enough. If Meredith didn’t know him so well, she’d think he was genuine. 

“See to it that I’m on the guest list for the next one, if there are any more parties now that you’re more... settled.” Adelaide’s leaned forward, as if sharing a great secret with them, and her eyes flicker over to Meredith. After a moment more she straightens, resting a hand on either of their arms. “Don’t the two of you make a darling couple.”

_ What? _

For a moment, Meredith considers laughing. How silly. How  _ absurd. _ Her and Maxwell, a couple? She very nearly corrects Adelaide, but something stops her.

“We do look cute together, don’t we?” Meredith slides her hand out from his elbow and catches his hand instead, lacing her fingers into his. Inspired by the opportunity, she levels a cool, comfortable smile at Adelaide, certain that the move will be read as territorial.

“We do?” Maxwell asks idly, before understanding. “Of course we do.”

“The cutest,” Meredith finishes, and her smile widens. 

The humor from Adelaide’s tone is gone, replaced with polite disinterest. “Just adorable,” she answers smoothly. “Now, you should go pay your respects to Madeleine. Don’t let me keep you any longer.”

And then she’s gone, floating over to someone else. Meredith releases Maxwell’s hand, sliding her own back up to his elbow. “Sorry,” she murmurs, and she shoots him a small, apologetic smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I played along.”

“Oh!” Maxwell looks taken aback for a moment, then smiles. “No, of course not. You know I’m always down for whatever.”

“Is she always like that?”

“Pretty much.” He winces, visibly uncomfortable. “I think she just likes making people uneasy. She doesn’t take any of this seriously, no matter how much she gets out of it. From what I’ve heard, Madeleine can’t stand her.”

“I can’t  _ imagine _ why,” Meredith deadpans. “But, hey. Maybe now she’ll give you some space? Now that she thinks I might jump her if she tries anything.”

“You’d jump her even if she didn’t think we were a couple,” Maxwell teases, and Meredith draws her lips back in a snarl before dissolving into laughter. “You’re  _ scrappy. _ Not intimidating at all when you’re giggling like a four-year-old, but like, in general.”

“I’ll fight for your honor. Let me at her. I’ll fight her right now.” 

Maxwell shoots her a smile, covering her hand with his own and squeezing. There’s genuine affection in the gesture, and it warms her. He’s silent for a long moment as they eye Madeleine. She’s flanked by Kiara and Penelope on either side, and she looks for all the world like the perfect hostess, the perfect princess. Maybe this would be easier, she thinks, if she and Madeleine weren’t expected to compete again. Maybe it would be easier if she could just be sure that this time, she’d win.

Maybe this would be easier if she was sure that this was what she wanted.

“You okay?” he asks, turning his attention back to her, and Meredith shrugs one shoulder, clearing her throat. She will  _ not _ give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her tear up. She takes in a long breath, ignores the way it shudders in her throat.

“Run it by me one more time,” she says, voice low. “Not the Bertrand version, where good manners and a media presence wins the day. The real version.”

In her heels, she’s as tall as him. His eyes are a curious color, the same shade of blue as the one dress she’d packed when she came here in the first place. Somehow, the color reminds her of home. 

“We need to uncover what happened. That will mean going back to Applewood, and playing nice with the court.” He hesitates, jaw tightening, as if he likes the thought of her back there, or surrounded by these people, even less than she does. “When we have more answers, we try to clear your name. When we clear your name, then Liam leaves Madeleine.”

“And if I don’t —”

“If you don’t, he marries Madeleine.”

“No, I know that part. If I can’t manage this, then — what’s going to happen to House Beaumont?”

His eyes widen in surprise, and he hesitates before answering. 

“Don’t tell me not to worry about it. I’m worried about it. What happens if I can’t do this?”

“Then we figure something out,” he says earnestly, tone and expression equally serious. “But it’s not your fault if that happens. I mean — you don’t have to do any of this. I’m serious. If you don’t want to be here, I’ll commandeer the limo and I’ll drive you home, or to the airport. You tell me where to go and what to do.”

For a moment she wants to tell him  _ yes, please, let’s leave and never look back. _ The moment passes. Meredith leans into him, presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s go find Madeleine.”

* * *

She has no one to blame but herself. Getting to the roof had been easy enough, comparitively speaking. She’d had the good sense to trade the dress that Bertrand had given her for a pair of jeans and a hoodie, all dark — she couldn’t imagine that Madeleine’s security would be particularly concerned about treating her gently if they saw her scaling the side of the house.  _ If I die, _ she’d told Maxwell before she left,  _ make sure they record my cause of death as hubris.  _ Climbing down from the roof to Liam’s balcony had been significantly more difficult. Liam has to catch her around the waist and practically drag her over the railing when she nearly slips, and for a long moment they simply stand together, her breathing heavy, her heart pounding.

It’s only when she’s fairly secure that she’s not actually going to go tumbling to her death that Meredith takes a step back, and then another, keeping Liam at arm’s length. For a moment, he looks hurt, and Meredith wants to reach for him again, but —

“Hang on,” she says, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Gratitude for the save aside — which,  _ thank you, _ I would have been really pissed off if I came to Cordonia and died like  _ that _ — we’ve got some ground to cover before things go even  _ close _ to back to normal.”

He nods. “You’re right,” he says, voice low. “We need to talk. It’s just —” Liam takes in a long, slow breath. “ _ Damn, _ Meredith, how I’ve missed you.”

“Well —” What is she supposed to say to that? How many days did she go without a call? A text? A letter? Literally  _ anything? _ When she speaks again, her voice is quiet and small. “You never should have let me go.”

“I wish I hadn’t.” The answer is immediate, and Liam looks absolutely stricken.

“Are you going to ask me if it’s true?”

“You and Tariq? No. I don’t need to ask to know that it was a set up.”

She’s silent for a long, long moment, uncrossing her arms only to pull her sleeves over her hands. Her eyes catch a loose thread near her left thumb, and she picks at it idly before looking back at Liam. 

“Let me make sure I understand this fully,” she says, words slow, deliberate. “I tell you that I got a threatening letter. Someone publishes photographs of me that you  _ know _ are misleading. Pictures, I might add, taken without my consent, while I’m in my underwear, in a space that’s supposed to be safe for me. I get humiliated on an  _ international scale, _ I get dragged out of the palace, quite literally kicking and screaming, and  _ not an hour _ after you tell me that you love me and want to spend your life with me, after you’ve been coronated,  _ you let it happen? _ And then — ’cause, you know,  _ fuck that girl, _ right? — no texts, no calls, no letters, no carrier pigeons, for three weeks?”

“You have every reason to be angry. I’m so, so sorry that I hurt you.”

He’s earnest. He always is. His eyes are as warm as they’ve ever been, and right now she wants nothing more than to step into his grasp and let him hold her, bury her face in his shoulder and remind herself that she’s safe, and that she’s loved. 

“Explain it to me. Why —” Her words trail off, and she’s horrified to realize that her voice is wavering, that her eyes are starting to shine suspiciously.

“Why I chose Madeleine?”

Meredith nods, raising her hands to wipe angrily under her eyes.

His expression becomes softer, somehow, and tender, and infinitely sorrowful. Liam steps closer to her, and she doesn’t move as he reaches for her, brushing her hair back from her face. “Someone was willing to go to great lengths to set you up,” he says, and he cups her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs gently under her eyes. “To put you in a compromising position, to invade your privacy. To put you at risk.” His expression hardens, voice growing colder. “Drake told me about the lock on your door. Someone is determined to prevent you from becoming queen, and they seem to have considerable resources and access to the royal court.”

Liam hesitates for a moment, and Meredith looks at him, really looks at him, for the first time since the Coronation. There are dark circles under his eyes, hidden carefully with a bit of concealer. Courtesy of Madeleine, Meredith is sure. She wants so, so badly to hold him, too. 

Maybe this will be fine. Maybe they can make this work. Maybe someday, everything will be okay again, and they’ll laugh about this, and Meredith’s heart won’t hurt whenever she looks at him. 

He takes in a long, shuddering breath before he speaks again. “And if I had stood up there and chosen you, Meredith, from then on, you’d be in danger.”

The spell breaks. Meredith takes a step out of his grasp, eyes widening, eyebrows creeping higher and higher. “You thought you were protecting me?” 

“I wish I could say that the palace guards would protect you, but the truth is that they had already failed at the country estate. That entire building was meant to be secure. When I think that someone who meant you harm and ruin was able to manipulate the situation so meticulously... Meredith, it  _ terrifies _ me that they could have set you up for worse.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out for a long minute. When she does manage it, there’s a tremor in her tone, low and dangerous. “Are you  _ kidding _ me?”

Liam takes a step back from her, surprise evident in his expression. She takes in a breath, draws her covered wrist across her eyes again.

“You thought I was in danger, real danger, physical danger, and you figured that your best bet was to send me to Ramsford?”

“I thought you were leaving. I hadn’t realized you were returning in Cordonia until a few days ago.”

“That’s even  _ worse!  _ I would have been completely alone! At least at Ramsford, I have Bertrand and Maxwell.” There’s a sudden, sharp swell of pride at the thought of the Beaumonts, both of whom would move heaven and earth for her, she knows.  _ They _ had come for her. “The palace guards failed at Applewood, and so you figured, no big, she’ll be fine, let’s pretend we don’t give a shit what happens to her anymore?”

He looks horrified. Had it not occurred to him at all, that she would be in more danger alone? “I never told you about my mother,” he says after a beat, trying to steady himself again.

“You told me she died when you were young.”

“The details of her death were kept secret from the public, but she was poisoned. If I lost you, Meredith...”

“ _ So you left me alone? _ ”

“I will regret what I did at the Coronation for the rest of my life because it hurt you, and I’m so sorry that it happened as it did, but in that moment, the only way that I could think of to keep you safe was to make them think they’d won.”

“All you did was prove to them that I could be isolated!” Her voice gets louder, until she’s nearly shouting. Wincing, Meredith slaps a hand over her mouth, and after a moment, she lowers her hand and continues in a fierce whisper. “You proved to them that they could make you doubt me. That I could be separated from the herd. You keep talking about what could have happened, but do you understand what  _ would have happened _ if Tariq had been someone else? Somebody less willing to take  _ no _ for an answer?”

Liam pales. Meredith presses on. 

“I was set up, and the  _ only reason _ something worse didn’t happen was because Drake intervened, and Tariq listened to me when I told him he was wrong. And someone took pictures of that — someone  _ saw _ and took  _ pictures, _ not being able to hear what was happening, just seeing me trying to push someone away! For all they knew, things were a thousand times worse in there! — and they  _ sold those pictures. _ I was isolated. I was alone. If Bertrand and Maxwell hadn’t come for me, I would have left for New York, and what would have stopped whoever this was from following me, if they really wanted to hurt me?”

“Meredith, I —”

“You didn’t ask me what I wanted! You didn’t make any effort to reach out! I can understand you choosing Madeleine. Whatever. It’s — god, I hate it, I  _ hate _ it, but I get why you did it. But leaving me alone? Letting me fend for myself, when what I needed was an ally? All you did was make it clear, to anyone watching, that you wouldn’t step in if they tried to strike again. You realize the last few weeks have been torture for me, right?”

Liam reaches forward to take her hand, presses his lips to her fingertips. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks devastated, horrified. “I thought —”

“You thought you were doing the right thing. But you were gambling with  _ my _ safety, Liam, and you didn’t give me  _ any _ say at all.”

There’s no ignoring it now — she’s crying again, cheeks flushed and nose red, and she sniffs, the sound loud and ugly.  _ Good, _ she thinks. She doesn’t want to be a pretty crier. She wants to be hideous and monstrous. If she’s going to be plastered all over tabloid covers and treated like a thing, she wants her hurt to be so obvious, so massive, that it can’t be overlooked.

Starting here, in this manor, in this court, with these people. Even with  _ him _ .

His free hand comes to wipe the tears from her cheek, and his voice cracks when he speaks. “I didn’t realize,” he says, “I’m sorry, I’m  _ so _ sorry. I’ve thought about you every single minute of every single day since we parted. I only wanted to keep you safe.”

She pushes forward, knocking his hands out of the way only to fling her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. Liam wraps one arm around her waist, holding her tightly against him, the other hand coming to cup the base of her skull, fingers tangling in her hair. 

“I know,” she says, voice muffled against his jacket, and he presses a lingering kiss to her hair, holding her closer, closer, closer still. “I know, Liam. I do. It’s just — wanting’s not enough.”

They stand like that, wrapped silently around each other, for a long time. After what feels like forever, she takes a step back from him and clears her throat, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. 

“We probably shouldn’t,” she says after a beat, and she shakes her head. “You may not be in love with her, but — you’re engaged to Madeleine, and I’m — I’m not going to do that to her.”

“Madeleine and I have an understanding,” he says, quietly, so quietly she almost can’t hear him. “She knows that I’m not in love with her, and she simply doesn’t care. You don’t know Madeleine very well, but she’s uncompromisingly practical and as cunning as she is calculating. That’s the entire reason I picked her, actually.”

There’s almost a tone of admiration in his voice. Meredith pretends it doesn’t sting.

“The night before the Coronation, she came to my room and proposed such an arrangement. She told me it was obvious that I was in love with you, but that regardless of my feelings,  _ she _ would be the best Queen of Cordonia.” 

_ She was right. _ It’s unsaid, but it hangs between them, and Meredith stops trying to pretend she doesn’t feel it.

“I could have the best of both worlds if I picked her. She’d be perfectly happy to let me continue our relationship... as long as she got to be queen.”

“Isn’t that, I don’t know, a little suspicious?”

He frowns, suddenly, and he shakes his head. “No,” Liam insists, tone sure. “No, it’s — Madeleine would do a lot, but she wouldn’t do this.”

“You sound awfully sure.”

“Trust me. There’s not a doubt in my mind — Madeleine wasn’t involved with this. She wouldn’t.”

“Because she’s such a stand-up gal?”

“Because she would never endanger Cordonia like that, or cast doubt on the Crown, even to get what she wanted. She plays fair. She’s vicious, and she takes no prisoners, but she doesn’t cheat, not even at this.”

“So what does that make me?” Meredith asks, eyebrows arching. “Your mistress?”

“No. It makes you the woman I love.”

“You can’t have it both ways, Liam. Either it’s too dangerous for you to be on my side, or we can be together.” There’s something not unlike guilt in the pit of her stomach, but she doesn’t acknowledge it.  _ Madeleine plays fair, _ the guilt is saying.  _ And she shouldn’t be treated like an inconvenience to be outlasted.  _

She tells the guilt to shut it. She deserves a minute to think just about herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you for your patience! It's been a long semester, and learning and teaching during a pandemic are a lot more exhausting than I'd anticipated, so creative writing got put on the back burner. Between a new Taylor Swift album and a little bit of free time, it's been great to come back to Cordonia. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone reading and everyone being so kind in my comments. You can find my writing blog at maxwellsbeaumont on Tumblr and my personal blog at lydiabennett on Tumblr. Hopefully, the next chapter will be posted around Christmas!

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so excited to be writing in TRR !! what a fun universe this is. a few notes regarding what to expect: this will cover the events of TRR 2, and will alternate between madeleine's and meredith's perspectives. i have plans to cover TRR 3 and TRH in later projects, incorporating ships for hana and drake. this will get divergent as it continues. some lines taken directly from canon. this is a household that loves & respects kiara theron, bertrand beaumont, and liam rys, and that criticizes madeleine amaranth, but with love. penelope- and olivia-ambivalent. 
> 
> the M rating is going to come primarily from examinations of trauma & its aftermath (the photographs, the assassination attempts) and politically-motivated violence. tags and ratings will be updated as necessary. 
> 
> find me on tumblr @maxwellsbeaumont !! talk TRR to me !!


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